


Calanques

by Garonne



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Book 2: Post Captain, M/M, Stephen's younger years, background Stephen/Diana and Jack/Sophie, but no infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: On holidays with Jack during the Peace of Amiens, Stephen meets an old lover.
Relationships: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2020





	Calanques

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildlives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildlives/gifts).



> Hello Wildlives :) You mentioned a pleasant day for Jack and Stephen, with some romance and friends to lovers. Here are several pleasant days, in France and in Spain!
> 
> This is an alternative version of Chapter 4 of Post Captain, in which I have changed some of the details of Jack and Stephen's time in France, and filled in the missing Castle in Spain scenes.
> 
> Context from the books at the precise point this story is set: Jack has been forced to leave England to avoid being arrested for debt, and thanks to the Treaty of Amiens Britain and France have temporarily ceased hostilities. At this point, Jack knows nothing of Stephen's double life as a spy, and very little of his past in Ireland or in Catalonia. Stephen has not yet learnt to swim, nor has he sailed with Reverend Martin yet. Jack and Stephen only recently met Sophie and Diana, and their falling out and almost-duel over Diana comes a few months later.

A little jolly-boat floated peacefully on the jewel-blue waters of the cove. In the boat, Jack lay in the bottom looking up at the sky, his face reddened by the Mediterranean sun. Stephen leant over the side with a periscope of his own devising, a rope made fast about his waist. Jack had already fished him out of the water twice today. Happily, the day was so warm that he was scarcely bothered by his wet garments.

The water was clear and calm, and Stephen had an excellent view of Pelagia noctiluca drifting past, its cloud of fine, transparent tentacles waving in the gentle current. He watched its progress, reflecting on what Lemaire had to say about jellyfish toxin.

It was late afternoon, and they had spent the whole day messing about in the boat, going along the coast from La Ciotat to Montredon and pulling into every little inlet that caught their fancy. There had been caves to explore a-plenty in the jagged white cliffs that lined the deep-water coves the French called calanques, and some of them ended in tiny sandy beaches inaccessible by land. Jack had spent as much time in the water as in the boat, and Stephen had a growing collection of shells and seaweed, nothing particularly novel, but satisfying all the same.

These were almost familiar waters to Stephen, the narrow, steep-sided inlets and white limestone cliffs much like the cales he knew intimately all along the coast of Catalonia. He was reminded particularly of a calanca near Tossa de Mar where he had seen his first seahorse at the age of ten.

The boat rocked gently, and behind him Stephen heard a splash, signalling Jack's dive into the water. 

He turned, frowning. Stephen could not swim, and he looked with disapproval on this aquatic gambolling.

"I beg you will take notice of the dread meduse," he called. "She stings, and she is only a few yards away from you on this side of the boat."

Jack surfaced, gave him what was certainly meant to be a reassuring wave, and swam off. Stephen took his place in the bottom of the boat, and stretched out his legs, letting the sun's rays bake his damp clothes.

Later, they made fast the boat to a natural bollard, at a place where smooth limestone rocks sloped down to the sea, scrubby dried-out bushes dotted in the crevices of the rockface. They left the water to sit on the rocks in the sun. After they had shared out the last of the biscuits, and each had a swig of water-and-wine, Stephen lay down on the warm flat surface and closed his eyes. Beside him, Jack began to snore.

.. .. ..

Jack woke to blinding sunlight. He had a moment of anxiety when he saw Stephen was gone from his side. He was firmly convinced Stephen would walk off a cliff or drown in a rockpool if left unsupervised for more than a short space of time. Then he saw a dark, hunched shape among the tide-pools down by the water's edge, and he could relax. 

He lay back again, letting the warm sunlight on his face lull him into a state of lazy, comfortable contentment. He felt very fortunate to have Stephen here with him.

The journey had been decided without any discussion between them. When it became clear that Jack must leave England for the moment, Stephen seemed to take it for granted that he should come too. Jack certainly had no objections.

After some time, Stephen came scrambling back up the rocky slope, wet but happy.

"Are there any biscuits left, at all, Jack?" he called as he came. "I find I have worked up a tremendous appetite."

It was early evening by the time they came ashore again. They were staying in the coastal village of Cassis, in an inn recommended to them by two French Navy captains they had met in Toulon. They walked slowly up the hill from the seafront, talking all the while about the pleasures of the day. As they neared the inn, Jack was struck by a sudden thirst. 

"What say you to a drink before supper?"

"You will let me put my anemone in water," said Stephen, "and then I am entirely yours."

The inn was popular with seamen, and voices raised in French, English, and Spanish drifted out through the open windows of the crowded taproom. Jack waited at the door for Stephen, smiling to himself as he watched a spotty young man in the uniform of a French sous-lieutenant drag an enormous mastiff past on the far side of the street, advancing by only a few steps at a time.

Finally, Stephen reappeared in the hallway. They entered the taproom, and Jack was a few steps ahead when he heard a voice cry out, "Stephen Maturin, as I live and breathe!"

Jack turned to see a tall, well-dressed man, as slender as he himself was broad, and wearing an old-fashioned physician's wig much like Stephen's. The man was gazing at Stephen with every appearance of surprise and delight. Stephen himself was looking strangely inscrutable.

"Allow me to present Captain Aubrey of the Royal Navy, my particular friend," Stephen said as soon as Jack had squeezed his way back through the crowd to join them. "Jack, this is Dr William Nagle. We were contemporaries at Trinity College some years ago."

Before Jack could make his bow, Nagle surprised him by offering his hand, as though they were old friends.

"Any friend of Stephen's is a friend of mine," he insisted, pumping Jack's hand with great enthusiasm.

They took a table together in the corner and shared a bottle of wine. Nagle carried the brunt of the conversation. Stephen was more than civil, indeed he was almost friendly, but Jack thought he detected a certain reserve in Stephen's replies to Nagle's chatter. For his own part, Jack applied himself to the bottle, and to the oysters they ordered.

"I am travelling with an English gentleman of French heritage," Nagle told them. "Advanced in years, poor man, but quite determined to see the land of his forebears one last time." He squeezed lemon over an oyster, hooked it expertly from its shell and popped it into his mouth. "And so you were obliged to accept employment as a Naval surgeon, Maturin? My dear fellow, I am very sorry to hear it."

Jack stiffened. He did not dare look at Stephen, but he was happy to hear him say, "I counted myself fortunate to do so. Sure have I not seen Alexandria itself, not to mention Mount Ida? Though I am sorry to say I passed within half an hour's sail of Cythera, birthplace of the goddess Aphrodite, and not a glimpse of it did I get. The requirements of the service, you know, are always paramount."

He said this last sentence in such a dry, grave voice that if Jack hadn't known him better, he might well have believed Stephen's sincerity. 

The conversation turned to the subject of Greek mythology and its study, but after a few minutes Nagle picked up the previous topic.

"I must say, I am extremely surprised to see you in the service of the British Crown," he said with a peculiar emphasis, as though he were trying to hint at something. "However, I must not be indiscreet, haha."

Jack glanced at Stephen, who was looking particularly mild and abstracted.

"You refer to my religion, I collect," Stephen said. "But no no, for a warrant officer it is no problem at all. The difficulty arises only for commissioned officers such as the Captain here."

Nagle opened his mouth. Jack had a premonition that Nagle was going to say he had been referring to something else entirely, but before he could speak, Stephen was talking about religion and the navy in general—chaplains he had known—often had some knowledge of physic, very useful when a surgeon found himself without an assistant—he regretted never to have sailed with a chaplain himself—the sailor's dislike of cats, coffins and chaplains aboard—other foolish superstitions. 

They finished the bottle, and Jack suggested another, for politeness' sake. To his relief, Nagle refused, saying he had to see his elderly gentleman before the man turned in for the night. He took his leave of them, and Jack felt a certain tension leave his gut.

"Let us go upstairs," he said, as a group of sailors at a nearby table burst into raucous laughter. "I've had enough of this infernal noise."

He had taken an aversion to Nagle, though he very much wished to like him for Stephen's sake, and the resulting guilt was making him short-tempered.

Stephen was agreeable to leaving the taproom, and they stopped at the bar only long enough to ask for bread and toasted cheese to be sent up to their rooms.

.. .. ..

Later that evening, while Jack poured over a copy of the Gazette only two weeks old, Stephen retreated into the relative privacy of the bedroom and opened his diary.

_'And so William Nagle elbows his way into my life once more. One would never guess that, when last we saw each other, he claimed I had offered him an insult that was grounds for his calling me out. His message came, sure enough; the day for our duel was fixed. But the next I heard, he had been called down to Wexford on family business. Three months later I left for Paris, and never saw him again._

_Yet he must have returned to Dublin at some point, for here he is, a qualified physician._

_His remarks in JA's hearing today were unwelcome, to say the least. It was impossible for me to come off well. Even so simple a creature as JA must have noticed my clumsy attempts at misdirection._

_Nagle knows nothing, in all truth, and yet he could hint at enough to cause me trouble. He was on the outskirts of that revolutionary group of which I was a part, without ever committing himself—whether from cowardice or lack of conviction, I could never tell._

_Yet have I really anything to fear from him? In London they are well aware of my past allegiances, of my activities in Ireland in the last century. I have never tried to hide it. On the contrary._

_Jack, on the other hand, knows nothing of it all. I wonder if he could ever understand, he for whom loyalty is so simple and straightforward a thing.'_

He raised his head. Through the half-open door he saw Jack, dozing off in a chair by the fire, his ruddy cheeks made even redder by the light of the flames. Stephen felt a surge of affection for him. He sat there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Jack's chest as he slept.

After a few moments he returned to his diary.

_'Politics and insurrection aside, Nagle holds one other secret of mine. I was imprudent in those days. I allowed him liberties with my person. Indeed I too derived a certain pleasure from the act._

_But on this subject, I think, I have nothing to fear. He can hardly say anything to accuse me, without he incriminate himself at the same time.'_

He laid down his pen for a moment. His mind was flooded with memories of that time: the particular pleasures to be found in a man's body, the flex of hard muscle under sweat-soaked skin, the rasp of a day's worth of stubble... other men he had known besides Nagle, always briefly, sometimes anonymously.

Those were old, old memories, best left undisturbed in the dusty corners of his mind. He pushed them away, and after a moment he put pen to paper again.

_'How strange was William Nagle's attitude today. He affected to be friendly, but beneath the affability there was a bitter undercurrent. And when I remember how we parted, I am only surprised he is willing to acknowledge me at all. This affability is beyond my comprehension._

_But WN was always a man of many moods. Lively and witty when among friends, defensive and prickly when he felt himself threatened. Plagued by paranoia and quick to take offense. Men of his tastes often are._

_How strange that I should use that turn of phrase. "Men of his tastes." As though his tastes were not also my own. Yet I have been abstinent this many a year. I found the transient pleasure was not worth the risk. And indeed the pleasure itself, I found, was never so great. The fear of discovery or betrayal soured everything. How different might it be, I wonder, with a man one already knows and trusts?'_

Involuntarily, his mind went to Jack. He looked up before he could help himself, and his gaze fell on Jack lying there in the armchair in the other room, just visible through the open door, and still fast asleep.

Stephen looked quickly away. That was forbidden ground.

He closed his diary with a snap. He should write no more tonight.

He lay down in bed, annoyed and dissatisfied with himself. He expected to lie awake for a long while, but instead he was asleep within minutes. 

When he woke, Jack was in the other bed, snoring loudly. The soft light of dawn was coming in through the shutters.

Stephen had been dreaming of Diana. This was an almost nightly occurrence, though the dream was not always the same. Sometimes erotic; sometimes sweet and tender in a way the real Diana never was; sometimes of a nightmarish quality that left him cold and unsettled.

This time they had been sitting in the orangery at Melbury Lodge, the same room where Stephen had tried to work up the courage to declare himself, and where Diana had made it quite plain that she would never, ever consider him in that light.

In the dream, Diana was sitting on the window-seat, gazing out into the dark night beyond the pane. She was dressed in the blue silk Stephen had brought her from London, and her expression was cold and forbidding. Stephen had ventured a remark or two, he hardly knew what, but nothing seemed to reach her.

Awake now, Stephen turned over in the bed, tugging irritably at the sheets. Why could he never dream of the Diana he loved best, the Diana who laughed with him, and delighted in his conversation as much as he did in hers?

He did not sleep again until the sound of church bells outside their window woke Jack. Stephen heard him spring from his bed with his usual trick of coming directly awake if he wanted to. Next came the sound of floorboards creaking, then the screech of a rusty hinge as Jack opened the shutters a crack to check the weather. 

Moments later, Jack was looming over him, looking hopeful.

"Are you asleep, Stephen?"

Stephen groaned and did not answer, but after a few moments he sat up anyway. He knew Jack would tolerate no malingering this morning. They were bespoken with a French merchant captain they had met at the fish market a few days earlier. He had agreed to take them to the Iles du Frioul, where he would exchange them for a load of prawns and cuttlefish. His xebec was said to be the fastest in the area, and Jack's simple, straightforward delight in the prospect of seeing over the ship lifted Stephen's spirits despite himself.

.. .. ..

On the way down to the harbour Jack caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, straight-backed woman hurrying past, and thought of Diana for the first time in many days.

She seemed very far away now, and the wedge she had threatened to drive between him and Stephen had completely melted away. Thoughts of Diana, of course, led to thoughts of dear Sophie, and the sincere sweet love that always filled his breast when his mind turned to her. She had written to him just before they left England, telling him that there was nothing in the rumours connecting her name with a fellow in Bath. It was very encouraging, but just at a time when he could do nothing about it—and when he had become entangled in the most foolish way with Diana. He felt beholden to both girls, and hardly knew what to do. He sometimes wished he had never met Diana.

As for Stephen, his feelings towards Diana were a complete mystery to Jack. He knew that Stephen strongly disapproved of his own association with Diana, but whether that stemmed from simple jealousy, or from some unexpected and contrary morality, or from a deeper sentiment, Jack could not tell. At any rate, Stephen certainly was not thinking about Diana now. At Jack's side, as they threaded their way through the busy fish market, he was running on about a bad fish he had eaten when he was in the region years before.

Just before they reached the seafront, they crossed paths with Nagle again. He was walking alone, a pile of newspapers under his arm—for his elderly gentleman, he told them.

They exchanged a few polite words on their plans for the day, and Jack felt obliged to invite Nagle to dine with him and Stephen that evening. He was very relieved when Nagle claimed a prior engagement and showed no inclination to propose one of the following days.

Jack could not explain why he had taken such a strong dislike to Nagle. The man had behaved so oddly on their first meeting, seeming desperately to want Stephen's approval, and yet proffering what might have been veiled insults at every turn. Stephen, for his part, reacted to neither.

Jack could not make out their relationship. He sensed there was some deep connection there, with complexities and undertones he could not grasp. But that was no explanation for his antipathy towards the man. In the back of his head was a vague, unacknowledged suspicion that maybe he was simply jealous of anyone who had known Stephen before he did.

He was glad when they reached the harbour and he could turn his full attention to the day ahead, and dismiss Nagle from his thoughts. The xebec lived up to its commander's promises in every respect. She was a light, trim vessel, with her foremast raked well forward and a lateen rig. It was clear she did a certain amount of smuggling and blockade-running in addition to her duties in the merchant shipping line. Jack was reluctant to favourably compare a merchant vessel to the Navy fleet, but he had to admit the xebec was sailing closer to the wind than any square-rigged vessel he'd ever known.

Her captain was a scientific sailor, a man after Jack's own heart, and willing to acknowledge his ship's weaknesses as well as its strengths: rolls heavily, he said, and runs poorly. Jack had a long discussion with him about the lateen rig through the intermediary of a Guernsey man in the xebec crew who spoke both English and French—Stephen had wandered off as soon as the conversation turned to shallow draughts and banded scales.

It was with satisfaction in his breast that Jack set foot ashore the Iles du Frioul. They struck out into the wilderness, quickly leaving the small fishing port behind them. The isles were windswept and almost treeless, with only a few low shrubs clinging to the dry, chalky surface. There was very little for Stephen to botanize, but he seemed to be enjoying his ramble all the same, humming to himself and pointing out the occasional natural landmark. It was the first time Jack had ever seen the familiar Cap Caveaux or Point Brigantin from the landward side.

When they grew hungry they stopped for fish soup in an isolated inn on the southernmost island, and then waited for the tide to go out so they could pick their way across the rocky causeway from that island to its neighbour. They avoided the islands' many fortifications, 'or else they may take us up as spies, haha', as Jack put it. From a distance they saw the famous prison island, the îlot d'If, a tiny rock entirely covered in fortifications, its steep cliffs topped by ramparts and gun platforms.

"I wondered how many British prisoners have slept within those walls?" Jack said aloud. "There are none there now, at least. Peace does have its advantages, I suppose, haha."

Later, a fishing sloop took them from the Isles to its home port of Marseille, where they negotiated a note on Stephen's Spanish bank to replenish their dwindling stock of coin. In the early evening, when the sun was no longer too strong, they walked back over the headland to Cassis.

They had brought their instruments from England, and that evening in their rooms they set to Locatelli's Sonata in D Major. Jack closed his eyes as he played, delighting in the slow, smooth strains of the violin, the pum pum of the cello, two strands perfectly intertwined.

He opened his eyes and met Stephen's gaze, returned his smile during the tiny pause, the deep breath, before they plunged together through the sudden change of tempo that had given them so much trouble in the past. But tonight everything was flawless, fingers flying, bows dancing, lively cheerful notes filling the room, making them both grin as the exhilaration swept them up.

The music seemed to be straining at something beyond that, something Jack could not quite comprehend. A peculiar feeling seemed to well up inside him, an ill-defined longing to be closer to Stephen.

.. .. ..

Stephen returned to their lodgings the following afternoon after a solitary walk, feeling at odds with the world, and half-relieved, half-disappointed that Jack was not there upon his return, to vent his spleen on him. He drank a solitary cup of coffee and opened his diary.

_'Met WN again today. I did not stop for longer than a few minutes to speak with him. Fortunately JA was not with me at the time. I do not wish to see a repeat of the other night, and WN's insinuations in JA's hearing._

_JA is very dear to me, and I know he has a great curiosity about me and my past, though he would never be ill-bred enough to press me on the subject._

_I once had a certain fondness for Nagle too. It is difficult to recall now.'_

He had felt desperately alone, at that point in his life when he and Nagle first met. Fresh from Catalonia, he had discovered Dublin with its endless brick facades and grey skies, full of English-speaking Protestants. He could hardly believe it was in the same country as the Galtees of his childhood.

At Trinity, he had been admitted on sufferance as a Catholic, before any such thing was officially allowed. Not that being the odd one out had bothered him, for any of the many reasons that was true. He was self-sufficient unto himself. He needed no one. But he was willing to tolerate, even encourage, Nagle's friendly overtures.

_'Nagle was one of the few truly friendly faces among my classmates. Perhaps it was because he had been raised on his family's estates in Wexford. One of those rare members of the Ascendency to possess a smattering of the Gaelic. Hiberniores Ipsis Hibernis he was not, but he had a respect for the ways of his tenants and compatriots that made me warm to him.'_

There was both pain and pleasure in those memories, Stephen thought, taking them out and turning them over, examining them like a specimen under his magnifying glass. Sitting on Merrion Green together, in the cool, damp Irish summer. In the reading rooms, cramming for anatomy partials. Entwined together on a narrow bed, in one or other of their cramped lodgings, their skin slick with the sweat and seed of their coupling.

In hindsight, it was easier to see the signs that had presaged the way things had quickly turned sour.

_'I went out a dozen times that year, and in most cases I hardly remember what provoked the quarrel. With Nagle I remember it all too well. Not the minor slight he used as an excuse to call me out—some invented slur or other. That, I have forgotten. But I remember the true reason._

_Our relations made him unhappy—even if it was he who insisted on returning to my bed each time. I believe he resented his subservient role, as he saw it—though it was the role he himself chose. He seemed convinced things must of necessity be so unbalanced, between men._

_And yet I am persuaded it must not always be so, between two men who are good friends—intimates and equals.'_

He stopped there, because he was dangerously near shoal water and would soon be run ashore, as Jack Aubrey would have said, had he been reading over Stephen's shoulder.

.. .. ..

The following morning Jack was with Stephen when they met Nagle on the seafront. Jack eyed him warily, mistrusting his broad smile, and the effusive greeting he bestowed on them both. On their first meeting, Nagle had all but ignored Jack. This time he was the opposite, concentrating most of his attention on him and asking many questions—how well he knew Stephen, how they had met, how long they had been shipmates. So they were very good friends, were they?

Jack answered as well as he was able, keeping a civil tongue in his head for Stephen's sake, though he still felt an inarticulable dislike of Nagle that only grew with each prying question. 

They had met last year in Port Mahon, he said—he was temporarily without a ship—Dr Maturin was a dear friend to him, of course he was.

At Jack's side, Stephen seemed uncomfortable. He stood stolidly without fidgeting, but the gaze he fixed on Nagle could only be called a scowl.

"We should not linger, I think, Stephen," Jack said as soon as he was able. "The tide is coming in. Your anemones will soon be inaccessible." He clapped a hand on Stephen's shoulder, and was made inexplicably uneasy by the way Nagle's gaze followed his hand.

Nagle smiled toothily. "Perhaps you will dine alone with me some evening, Stephen, if your friend can spare you?"

"I'm afraid I am already spoken for," Stephen said coolly.

To Jack's amazement, Nagle seemed to take it like a slap to the face. "You don't even want to know me, do you, you damned turncoat—"

"Now, there's no call for—" Jack began, cutting him off.

Nagle rounded on him. "I have been closer to Stephen than you will ever be. Ah, you do not understand me, Captain? Let me make things plainer to you—"

"That's enough, William," Stephen said sharply, speaking for the first time in many minutes.

Nagle stopped short, controlling himself with an effort. After a moment, he gave Stephen a vicious smile, then turned sharply on his heel and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd around the fish market.

Jack stared after him, dumbfounded. "Surely he cannot have meant—That fellow was never—You and he—?"

"I was somewhat more personable in my younger days," said Stephen, in a rare display of vulnerability.

"You are perfectly personable now," Jack cried.

Stephen met his eye, and Jack blushed without understanding why. "I only meant, I was not surprised that he should... that he should take an interest in you, my dear Stephen, but rather that you should take an interest in him."

He had meant only to express his opinion that the fellow was unworthy of Stephen, but as soon as the words were out he realised they could be interpreted in an entirely different way. And indeed, that was how Stephen took them.

"No doubt it shocks and disgusts you," Stephen said, a sharp edge lurking under the mildness in his voice.

"Oh no! When I think of men of that persuasion I have known... excellent fellows, capital seamen." Stephen was looking skeptical, and Jack was moved to blurt out a sudden confession. "And I myself, well..."

"Oh," said Stephen, his eyes suddenly wider than Jack had ever seen them. "Oh?"

Jack did not wish to go into further detail than that, and not only because he would be betraying someone else's confidences as well as his own. "Never on board ship, however." Somehow it seemed important to specify that.

"Of course," Stephen said gravely.

Jack turned his head away, feeling his cheeks heat, and hardly knowing where to look. He was relieved when a sudden commotion further along the harbourfront caught both his and Stephen's attention.

"I believe that fellow is throwing out a signal to us," he said, recognising one of the other Englishmen staying at their inn.

Within half an hour, the whole town had heard the news. War had been declared again between England and France.

Jack and Stephen did not return to the inn, but left Cassis directly by the cliff-top path. So began their long, painful, nerve-wracking journey across the south of France, across the Pyrenees, and so to Catalonia.

.. .. ..

Jack woke to the smell of saffron. 

He was lying in an enormous mahogany bed, and Stephen was curled up in a wicker chair within arm's reach, fast asleep. A wooden bowl of paella and a jug of wine stood on the upturned chest between them.

Jack lay there silently for a moment, considering his surroundings. He was between clean sheets, and his wounds had been tended. His skin still felt raw all over, after weeks inside a bearskin that had rubbed constantly, but the pain was now a bearable background irritation rather than an agonising burn. 

He had confused memories of waking previously in this same bed, over the past few hours, days or weeks—the period of time was unclear in his mind—and feeling hot and feverish and aching all over.

Besides the bed, a few chairs, and the chest, the room was empty. It was a very large room, with stone walls and floor. The small slit of a window was set in an outer wall that looked to be at least two feet thick. It let in a few rays of searingly bright sunlight, and gave Jack a glimpse of a clear blue sky.

Jack's stomach rumbled, and he realised he was ravenous. The smell of paella was very tempting. As soon as Jack sat up, Stephen stirred and opened his eyes.

"You are awake, my dear," he said calmly, though Jack saw that his face was drawn and tired, with shadows under his eyes and a grey tinge to his cheeks. He wondered just how ill he himself had been, and how much and how long Stephen had been worrying over him.

Stephen came closer to look at Jack's pupils and take his pulse. As he counted, with his finger on Jack's wrist, Jack looked at his bent head and felt a surge of joy and relief that they were finally here, safe and alive. He planted a kiss on the nearest part of Stephen he could reach, the top of his head.

Stephen glanced up, taken aback and flushing pink. "Lie still, now," he said crossly, but Jack thought he looked secretly pleased.

After they had eaten, Stephen made no objection to Jack rising from his bed, as Jack had feared he might, and Jack spent the rest of that day exploring his surroundings to his heart's content.

When Stephen had spoken of his castle in that dismissive way of his, back in England, Jack had imagined a romantic abandoned ruin. But several people seemed to be living in the place, which was not nearly as ruined as Stephen had made out. It was a smallish hilltop fortress, built for defense and not for beauty in pale yellow stone, with two solid round towers, and two other towers crumbling away, stones spilling down onto the steep hillside below. The orange trees in the courtyard were in bloom, and black pine and juniper brushes had invaded the ruined part.

Besides the merino sheep that wandered freely through the ruins, Jack also met an old woman getting water from the well in the courtyard, and the man tending the kitchen garden seemed to be living in the foot of one of the towers with a wife and children.

None of them tried to speak to Jack, nor he to them, but they exchanged courteous nods.

That evening, Stephen and Jack ate again together in the same room where Jack had woken—he had soon discovered that there was very little furniture in the rest of the castle. After, Stephen rose to place the wooden bowls and cups on the chest by the door, and Jack rose too, meeting Stephen as he turned from the door.

He took Stephen's hand, and, when Stephen made no objection, felt emboldened to step closer.

When he started, he had had no very clear notion in his head of exactly where he intended to set his course, but Stephen's face was so very close, his gaze on Jack, lips slightly open, eyes wary. Jack leaned in to kiss him on the mouth.

Stephen did not move or speak, but his lips opened, inviting, and Jack stepped closer. Stephen's close-cropped hair was pleasantly rough under his hands, and his body was warm against Jack's.

They exchanged slow, sweet kisses, soon turning harder, and Jack's blood rose. He felt Stephen's hard length against his thigh, and clutched him closer with a groan.

"You will allow me to undress first, for all love," Stephen said, voice crotchety, and Jack released him, laughing.

They climbed into the wide mahogany bed, almost naked. Jack lay back, Stephen kneeling over him, and Jack took him in hand, marvelling at this liberty he had never thought he would be permitted.

Stephen's eyes were wide and dark, fixed on Jack, his breath coming in quick, harsh gasps. After a moment he surged forward, his lips finding Jack's again. Their bodies entangled, Stephen careful of those places where Jack's skin was still raw and tender. His eyes closed, Jack let himself savour Stephen's strong fingers, the brush of his body, the impatient noise he made as he manoeuvred them both into position. 

Why, he's a much better navigator in the bedroom than on the high seas, Jack thought, amused, but before he could say it aloud, Stephen's hand twisted just so, and all thoughts of humour left his mind. He could think of nothing but this moment, this closeness, this wondrous music of the body when two hearts and minds moved as one. 

Afterwards, Stephen slumped on Jack's chest, much heavier than he looked. Jack could not even summon the energy to complain. A great affection welled up in him as he looked down at Stephen's face, unguarded for once.

"You are very dear to me, you know, Stephen," he said softly. Stephen gave a testy snort, but his hand tightened on Jack's arm.

Jack let his eyes fall shut, feeling lazy and sated and blissfully happy. When he opened them again, some time later, he found Stephen had raised his head and was watching him with thoughtful eyes. Jack blinked, still sleepy.

Stephen gave one of his sudden, unexpected smiles.

"I was reflecting on how different this feels when one's partner is a true friend," he said suddenly. "A dear friend."

Jack blinked again, his breath catching in his throat. He could feel himself grinning foolishly, and he tugged Stephen closer to kiss the nearest part of him, the top of his ear.

Soon they would have to return to England, and Jack sensed there were shoals and tricky waters to navigate ahead of them, but for now he was content to rest here in harbour just a little while longer.


End file.
